Alice
by LunaStellaCat
Summary: Not only does Frank Longbottom have to deal with a demanding career and the Order of the Phoenix, he also has an overbearing mother. Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Any critiques or reviews would be greatly appreciated.
1. Alice

He almost lost the girl over his mother. Frank saw this as a problem, although he had initially shrugged it off when it happened. Alice was a pretty, simple girl, and these "problems", whatever they were, would fix themselves. Time resolved anything and everything. The Ministry used to call him the pampered prince. He was a wealthy young man, and he wasn't bad looking, either. (His mother told him so.) There had been other women, Frank reasoned with himself as he read over a report for the ninth or tenth time. He'd lost count as the words seeped through his brain, carrying no meaning whatsoever.

"You are boring me," growled a voice, yanking him abruptly from his thoughts.

Mad-Eye Moody had recently gotten a wooden leg from the Healers at St. Mungo's. He walked with a strange, slow gait, every step measured. Things worked well until he got ahead of himself and forgot about the prosthetic. Yesterday, he went facedown on the pavement whilst chasing a suspected Death Eater in the East End. It had rained for days.

Frank signed the bottom of the document, knowing full well he didn't read it. He'd probably pay for it later. He waved his wand, and the piece converted itself into an interdepartmental memo and zoomed away. Mad-Eye's voice carried and Frank wasn't in the mood for an open discussion, so he got heavily to his feet and wandered over to the other Auror's desk.

Frank stepped inside the cubicle, uncomfortable with the tight fit and crossed his arms. Mad-Eye either didn't get the message or ignored it altogether. A walking stick leaned against the wall in the corner.

"What do you want, sir?" Frank added the last part as an afterthought because he checked his tone. Mad-Eye, who had reached inside his robes, no doubt fingering his wand, dropped his gnarled hand. "I haven't slept since Thursday. I can't find Mr. Carrow or his sister."

"And you waited three days to tell me," said Mad-Eye. He didn't look up from the briefing he read. It was Frank's. "You ought to have written this on a napkin and tossed it in a bin for all the good it does me."

"Yes." Frank stood behind his work for good or ill.

"How long have you been here?" Mad-Eye shot at him, tossing the report aside.

Frank stood up straighter and held his hands behind his back. "Eighteen years. And I know better."

Mad-Eye chewed something in the side of his mouth that wasn't there. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and apparently decided, upon reflection, it was better to keep his mouth shut. Frank had, in effect, steered his own telling off. Mad-Eye slammed his wooden leg on a crate.

"Help me take this off, will you? It hurts." Mad-Eye dropped the conversation and grimaced out of the side of his lopsided mouth, something Frank took as good enough for a smile.

"Yes." Frank knelt onto the floor in an awkward position and unhooked the hinges with careful fingers. This leg was a prototype, a test run, because Mad-Eye was due to be fitted for the real thing in August or September. Frank set the leg aside and took an embroidered handkerchief out of his pocket to catch the mess. "It's infected again. You got any antiseptic or hydrogen peroxide? That's better."

Mad-Eye pointed a gnarled hand at a drawer. He pointed his wand lazily at the cabinet and its door sprang open. Checking out the wound with quick fingers, Frank helped himself to sterilization kit, opened it, pulled on gloves, lay down the cloth, and opened the brown bottle one-handed.

"It's gonna hurt. Sorry." Frank poured the solution over the wound, wishing he had better light.

Quick and dirty left out the necessities and common sense. A reflexive reaction, Mad-Eye's good leg jerked. He kicked Frank hard in the teeth. Frank, taken aback, crumpled onto the floor and spilled the rest of the solution. Cursing, he spit blood onto the floor as it flooded into his mouth.

"Sorry," muttered Mad-Eye, taking over the bandaging of his own leg. The brown fluid, the cleaning agent, flowed from his leg.

"Nah. We're good." Frank's eyes watered. He took out his wand and gathered the majority of the mess in the blue drop cloth before tossing it in the wastebasket. He got to his feet and sat on the edge of Mad-Eye's desk. He wiped his brow, chucking at a memory. "Remember the time you pulled that for real when I was in training? I've never been kicked while I was down so hard in my life, Mad-Eye.. You kept coming and coming."

"You got the point. You don't quit." Mad-Eye did not sound apologetic. Frank checked the bandages and reattached the leg. "Thank you."

"Stay off of it. I mean it this time." Frank checked the time and rolled his eyes. He was fifteen minutes late for a training session. "I gotta go. No pursuits. Take it easy today, all right? Yell at people. Not me."

Mad-Eye yelled after Frank as he retreated into the training quarters. "You're not my mother!"

Not really listening to him, Frank gave him a half-hearted wave. He stopped outside the Annex, the training quarters, and placed his wand on the brass scales. The scales vibrated and announced his presence and his badge number like some friendly female voiceover. The wall disappeared. Frank stepped into a brick walled room with punching bags and training equipment. There were three recruits huddled in the corner. One, a thin black man, wore a single golden hoop in his ear. There hadn't been a woman accepted into the Auror Office since Alice.

Alice, a small woman, stood with her feet apart punching one of the bags. She wore loose cotton pants and a t-shirt with some trainers. Frank smiled, admiring her as she switched flawlessly into a kicking stance and kept her fists closed. Her dark hair was tied back in a high ponytail. Spotting Frank, she stopped the demonstration, slowed the momentum of the bag, and picked a thermos off the floor.

"1300 means 1300, Longbottom," she said, taking a swig.

"1317 means close enough." He shrugged it off, knowing she put on the act for the newcomers. He walked over to a cubbyhole, found his on the third row, fifth to the right, slipped off his dress shoes and exchanging them for his old trainers. He felt them all watching him and clapped his hands together. "Right. So, let's get the housekeeping out of the way, shall we? If ,you're more than three minutes late, you're gone. No sick days. If anything so much as shoplifting charge finds its way onto your record, you'll be walking out the door. Disobey a direct order, especially from a senior officer, I'll throw you out personally. Lie to me, you'd better pray. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir." They spoke in unison.

"No wands, gentlemen. We're testing stamina today." Frank flexed the fingers of his left hand and pointed at the one with the earring. They circled around the mat in the centre of the room. "What's your name? Give me your strengths and weaknesses."

The recruit stood there after approaching Frank with caution. He raised his hands and guarded his face, a good sign.

"Alice Margaret Longbottom, 37." Alice took another swig from her bottle and turned to face them, fearless. "My strengths are negotiation, interrogation, dueling, combat and pursuit. My weaknesses? I struggle with international law and testifying in court. They love that. Oh, andm,i, m I forget my paperwork sometimes."

"Sometimes," Frank said softly, shaking his head as the group laughed good-naturedly. Alice had a knack for breaking the ice. "Alice, honey, let's be honest. You don't even know proper formatting anymore. You avoid busywork like the plague."

"Nobody asked you," she said, picking the recruit with the long ponytail. She touched his arm. "And you are?"

"Gawain Robards, ma'am. I'm eighteen. My strengths are timing, organization, and curses. I don't know much more than that."

"But you're learning. That's why we get you three years before we place you in the real world." Alice clapped him on the shoulder and nodded to Frank's first puck. "And you, sir?"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, 19. I took a year off to make sure I wanted to do this." Kingsley nodded at Frank. "I'm level-headed and calm under pressure. I hold my own in dueling. I don't like questioning witnesses, and I, too, ignore the paperwork. I'm really bad at keeping a timetable."

"Fair point, Kingsley. May I call you Kingsley?" Frank did this out of a courtesy. Mad-Eye once told him he could call the recruits whatever he wished. Mad-Eye himself used to number his off in a roll call; recruits earned their proper names back. Frank had been labelled Number Six once upon a time. The recruit nodded. "Join me."

The sparred for a good twenty minutes. Each recruit got five minutes. Frank actually laughed when Kingsley gave him two hard knocks in the jaw, almost dislocating it, that he gave him another go with Alice. Alice lost her footing, tried to catch herself, a mistake, and injured her left foot. Frank dismissed them for the evening before he went over to help her. After changing her clothes, Alice took his hand and hobbled over to a wooden chair.

"That kid is definitely in the lead," said Frank, impressed as he bandaged his wife. He touched her ankle gingerly and shifted the angle of his wand as bandages shot out of the end of it. "I think it's just a sprain. Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Alice put weight on the foot and fell back in the chair. "I can't believe I did that."

Frank mended his face without looking in a mirror and kissed her. "Hey, I let Mad-Eye accidentally kick me in the teeth today. There are no judgments. Lean on me. Come on."

"Oh, that's what that was." She doubled her grip around his left arm. "Ouch."

"We have dinner with the parents tonight." He sighed when she groaned and mumbled under her breath about the Order. He hesitated, thinking he already knew the answer to his question. He sprang it on Alice every once in while just to keep her on her toes. They left the Annex and started towards the Atrium. He lowered his voice, nodding at Bode. The man didn't really look like he was all there. "May we tell her yet?"

"What? No. Have you lost your mind? No." Alice stopped walking towards the fireplaces when Mad-Eye called after her. She carried her rucksack over her shoulder. He grimaced when he took hurried steps.

"So, what did you think?" Mad-Eye gripped the walking stick like something he didn't quite know what to do with yet.

"I like the first two. I think the third one's frightened of Frank. Frank loves Kingsley." Alice took Mad-Eye's free gnarled hand and squeezed it. She took a deep, steadying breath. Frank stopped, too, for he had a feeling she was about to rip off the bandage and break the news they'd been hiding for months. "Let's talk."

"About?" Mad-Eye's glass eye danced in its socket. "If you're leaving me and going over to John Dawlish, you're going to come crawling back."

"No." Frank shook his head at Alice and took her hand. If his own mother couldn't know, telling Mad-Eye seemed downright wrong. It was mid-April and they had plenty of time on their hands. He got back on track with a nervous laugh. Why would we ever leave you?"

"Well, Alice's going to have to. She's got one on the oven." Mad-Eye gave a bark-like laugh when Alice, who had reached into her rucksack to grab a sandwich, dropped a wrapped parcel onto the floor. She dropped her hand. "You eat everything in sight, and you're irritable, Alice. You signed your Rowle case off to Dawlish? I like John."

"You don't. You really don't". They said together.

"Yeah, he's a blundering idiot," said Mad-Eye, waving his compliment away. "When you went off on him back in January for getting your tea wrong and starting crying, I knew. You don't cry."

"No." Alice smiled at him. She turned to Frank, wincing a little. Even as she elaborated on her story, or confession, or whatever this was, unbidden tears filled her eyes. "I kind of went off on John in the lift yesterday because he kept asking me about timetables and procedures. He wouldn't shut up. He asked me about leave, and I wanted to hit him. He's so stupid!"

Mad-Eye, chortling, walked away, telling them he'd see them later for the meeting. He did not go into detail, although Frank caught his meaning. Forget about a long dinner with his parents. He'd been through five or six miscarriages with Alice, so they'd never gotten this far. Frank admitted he enjoyed her mood swings because he got to see a softer side of her.

"Come here." He picked the sandwich off the floor and led her over to the Fountain of Magical Brethren. He opened the parcel and handed her half. "Eat. You're getting hysterical, and you're frightening me."

Alice took offense. He saw it in her face. She also took a triangle slice of the sandwich. She polished the other one off, too.

"So, John is your scapegoat, huh?. Oh, this summer's gonna be great. This is gonna be hilarious!" Frank didn't even flinch when she punched him in the arm. "We've got an hour."

He helped Alice to her feet and they stepped through the fireplace. They entered his parents' home, and said a quick hello. His father, Dewey, a heavyset man, sat at the table in the kitchen reading a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and smoking his favorite pipe. Augusta called after them, probably calling Alice to help her, but Alice just slipped her hand through his, and led Frank into the small downstairs bathroom. Alice jumped into his arms and locked her legs his waist.

She started kissing him. "I want you."

"I'm right here. What're we doing in the bathroom? Oh, yes, I like that." He laughed when she whispered a suggestion in his ear. He felt hesitant, though, fully aware his parents were down the corridor. "In here? Right now?"

Alice dug her heels into his lower back, losing patience fast. "Oh, for the love of God, Frank!"

"Yeah, it doesn't matter." He went for it.

Forgetting everything else, Frank pressed her against the wall. Alice groaned when the hand towel rack dug into her back. When he apologized again, she started kissing him again. Frank started moving his hips and running his hands up her simple blue dress. Frank turned his head when she buried her face in his neck. He caught the profile of a thin woman in green robes in the bathroom mirror. His mother, who had just taken off her hideous vulture hat, stood in the door like a watchman.

He lost whatever he was feeling immediately. "Mama? What're you doing, Mama? Oh, my God." He let go of Alice and apologized yet again when she fell onto the floor.

"I would ask you the same question." Augusta wiped her hands on a dishtowel. "I was going to ask your wife to help me set the table, but she's a little busy."

"Augusta." Alice got to her feet and left them standing there, her face a deep red.

"I invite you to dinner every Wednesday. And she pulls you away to ..." Augusta followed him back into the kitchen.

She smacked him over the head with the dishtowel. Alice had escaped into the dining room with his father absorbed in her task. Frank's father was a quieter than his mother. Augusta slammed pots and pans around in her kitchen. She stirred some sauce a little too vigorously with her wand tip, so the stuff bubbled over a little before she got it under control. She hung the hat on a hook by the door.

"She's reckless, I said, she's self-centered. You've been married for fifteen years, and Alice is worried about her career. What has she given you? She's competing with you. She's using you. You're a much better Auror. She's nothing. Couldn't you have got with some other girl? She's getting fat. What? Is she letting herself go?"

Frank gathered the salad bowls and handed them off to Alice when she came back into the kitchen. He kissed his wife on the cheek before turning to his mother when Alice stepped out. "Mama, that's rude."

Augusta waved her wand and the rich sauce poured itself from the saucepan into some fancy boat. "You want children, don't you, Frank? Alice is almost forty. She's running out of time. Is that what Alice keeps promising you? And you're stupid enough to believe her? I thought I raised you better."

"Mama, stop! Goddamn it!" Frank had stepped over her to grab the serving dish and it clattered onto the floor. Frank took out his wand and muttered, "Reparo!", as the boat repaired itself and the sauce siphoned itself back inside it. Frank took it into the dining room and slammed it onto the table, spilling almost as much as he'd just cleaned up. When his father asked what was the matter, he said, "Your wife!"

Augusta picked up right where she left off when Frank came to grab the side dishes. Furious, Frank washed his hands and leaned over her. Augusta, thinking she'd probably thinking she'd gotten her way, smiled at him.

"Mama, listen to me. Hear me out, all right?" Frank dried his hands on a clean dishtowel and tried to speak evenly. "If you force me to choose, I'm going with Alice because this is no contest. It's always going to be Alice. I will take her and your grandchild, and we will disappear. I will pretend you don't exist. Back off, please. Try me. I dare you."

Augusta stared at him. "Frank."

"Nope. We're done here. Let's eat." Frank walked into the dining room. Frank sat next to Alice.

"Are you all right?" Dewey set a deck of cards off to the side. He collected small, split decks, for they had started to play a hand of some game. He poured his son a glass of wine. He poured three more.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Frank sipped the wine and helped his mother with the plates of spaghetti and meatballs. Neither of them said a word to each other.

"Here, Alice," said Dewey, handing for a glass.

"Oh, I can't Dewey, thank you," she said, tucking into the spaghetti. She watched twirl his spaghetti with a fork and a spoon. "How do you do that?"

"Like this." He lay down his utensils, picked them up again, and showed her three times.

"We don't have time for this, Alice," said Frank, shoveling spaghetti into his mouth when he saw the time. She'd be here all night with his father and still not master the trick.

Dewey offered Alice another glass of wine after dinner.

"I can't, Dewey," she said, more firmly. Dewey, desperate to offer her something, reached into his trouser pocket and handed her two packets of unopened Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. Dewey, a man always partial to his sweets, always carried this stuff around. Alice looked him him, to Frank, and back again. She spoke slowly , pocketing the sweets. "Thanks."

"You're a Healer, Dewey," said Augusta, saving her meatballs for last. "You could take better care of yourself. You shouldn't touch that."

"What do I keep telling you?" Frank nudged his wife.

"He needs grandchildren," sighed Alice, putting her guard down. She reached out to pat Dewey on the arm. "Dewey, I can't drink because I'm pregnant."

Dewey enjoyed a private laugh. His face fell almost comically when Alice pushed her chair back and got up. She walked over, took his left hand, and placed it under her ribcage.

Alice raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to say something. "You feel that?"

Dewey shifted his hand. "You're not kidding."

"No. Alice, we have to go." Frank stood and handed her hid traveling cloak. He said goodbye to his mother. He kissed her on the cheek, but it was more a practiced gesture than anything else. Both he and Alice hugged his father, He sighed, annoyed, when she followed them into the kitchen. "Mama, we're late for work."

Augusta looked at his wife. "Alice."

"What, Augusta?" Alice slipped off her shoe, rubbed her injured foot, and put it back on again.

"You hurt yourself," said Augusta, noticing the strips of the torn bandage on her shoe.

"I've had much worse, trust me. Frank." Alice draped an arm around his waist. When she caught Augusta's pained look, she said, "What does it matter? I'm just using him anyway. Isn't that right?"

Augusta cleared her throat. "I-I didn't mean any of it."

"Yes, you did," they said together. She'd meant all of it.

"What? Now that the secret's out we're all forgiven? Let bygones be bygones?" Alice got annoyed quickly when Augusta tried to speak over her. Frank, going with the safer option of keeping his mouth shut, tried to ignore the time. The top of the hour came and went. "No, this is my child. You got that? You are cold, and manipulative, and controlling. You ought to think about that. Good night. See you next Wednesday."

She strode out the back door. After saying a quick goodbye, Frank followed her, knowing she wouldn't get that far. When they got to the Apparition point, he took her by the arm, and they appeared on a shabby street in London. The Order met at unpredictable times at different locations. This was actually better, in Frank's opinion, because they couldn't track them down so easily. Not everyone showed up at every meeting; Benji Fenwick was responsible for getting the word out. He was rather good at this. Mad-Eye held a lantern aloft and showed they over to an abandoned Muggle bookshop.

"Dorcas is dead," he said without preamble. He must have been keeping an eye out for them because he left the meeting. "We think You-Know-Who got her."

"What?" Alice pulled the traveling cloak tighter around herself.

Frank placed a hand on her shoulder and steered into the bookshop. He pulled up a couple chairs, apologized for running late, and found a box for Alice to elevate her foot. Mad-Eye followed them inside, leaning heavily on his walking stick. Dumbledore usually wrapped up these meetings pretty quick, so Frank and Alice had missed the meat of it. Some of the members had already left.

The Potters were there. Mundungus Fletcher had fallen asleep, drunk, Frank suspected, by a heavy bookshelf. Marlene McKinnon, one of Frank's favorite's took the minutes of the meeting. Sirius Black sat in the corner playing with a box of matches and totally missing the concept. Spent matchsticks littered the floor beside him. Completely distracted, Frank, half-listening to Professor Dumbledore, held up a hand to stop him for a moment.

"Hello." Frank got up and walked over to Sirius. Taking the matchbook from him, he struck three matches, one after another, before handing it back to him. He clapped him on the shoulder. "Do not set this place aflame. I do not want to die in a fire."

"Thanks. You're afraid of fire, Frank?" Sirius struck a match and lit a candle with it, James gave him a thumbs-up.

"I've been set on fire twice. I don't play that game. No, thank you, sir." Frank waved to Professor Dumbledore, asking him to continue, and took his seat again.

"I'm finished." Professor Dumbledore waved to Alice and went to talk to Marlene. He left shortly thereafter with Marlene.

"Set on fire twice? Damn. That's hard-core." James acted mildly interested as he stacked some books. Lily was almost asleep. "By who?"

"Lucius Malfoy the first time. I think that one was freak accident, a mistake, because he was as shocked as me. It's a strange thing, trying to put yourself and your attacker out of fire at the same time." Frank walked over to James and Lily and showed him the scorch marks on his left leg. He nudged Lily with his foot. "You don't want to sleep here, miss, it's dirty. Books are probably moldy."

"And the second time?" Sirius spent his last match.

"I don't remember," said Frank conversationally. He helped Lily to her feet. "Mad-Eye?"

"The Carrow sister and Anton Dolohov," said Mad-Eye, jerking his head at Alice. He simply gave the facts. "They went after your lady, and you provided a human shield. You shoved her out of the way. Second and third degree burns covered half your body, and they knocked you out at 's, which is why you don't remember. They left you two in the snow on Christmas Day after delivering you to my place."

"Oh, my God," said Lily, shaking, horrified.

"I remember," said Alice, gripping the arms of her chair. "I saw you in the hospital, and I thought you were dead. That was five years ago."

"Five years ago," said Frank softly, thinking back. He got lost in his memories for a while. "That was when you lost Anna."

"Yeah." Alice wandered over to the bookshelves.

"Who?" Lily and James sounded confused.

"Nothing. Just don't name your kid before it's born." Frank shook his head, not wanting to talk about dead children. The Potters were a happy couple expecting their first one. Frank's own parents didn't even know about the children who could have been. "There's this whole thing, and you just - you just don't do it, all right?"

"Okay." Lily made circles in the dirt when her feet.

Alice came back sometime later with a thick black volume.

"What did you find, book thief?" Frank grinned at her.

"Mundungus is back there," she said, pulling up another thin volume. She handed over the books. "Put these in the rucksack."

" _Le Chateau_ by Neville Christian St. Claire. The original date of publication ... 1789." Frank checked to make sure it was an English translation. "That'll do."

"It sounds boring," said Sirius, turned off by the title.

"That's the point. We read to each other at night because it keeps insomnia at bay." Frank packed the rucksack again and kissed his wife. "It passes the test."

"You have a boring book test?" Lily leaned against James. "Isn't that adorable?"

"It's weird if you ask me," said James, shrugging. He fell back on the old line, sharing a grin with Sirius. "But they're old..."

"Whoa. Wait a moment." Frank held up a hand.

"I'm not too old to save your skin, Mr. Potter and Mr. Black. Remember last Thursday? Who fought off three Death Eaters single-handedly that afternoon?" Alice shut them up quick and shook Lily's hand. She gave Frank a high five. "You wear me out, boys, you, and Remus, and Peter. You're welcome. Good night."

"Night, boys and miss. Mad-Eye." Frank waved to them and stepped out into the night. Frank tossed the rucksack over his shoulder, declined a stick of chewing gum from Alice, and laughing when she popped a piece in her mouth. She really was a good daughter for Dewey. He took her hand, letting her lean on him for support, and closed his eyes as they disappeared on the spot. 


	2. Prophecy

When they got home late that night, Frank debated taking a sick day because duties and everyday life ran him into the ground. He took the first shower because Alice offered it to him, and he didn't need to be told twice. They would have done this dance most days, passing it back and forth, Frank letting her win as a courtesy. He argued with his wife sometimes for the pure fun of it. Sometimes, actually, most of the time, Alice called him on his bluff as she went along with the game. They lived in a small two-bedroom flat in the heart of London. After he took shower, Frank climbed in bed and got lost in some work papers. Ten minutes later, Alice, exhausted, forgot the new book and passed out next to him.

Frank chuckled softly, realizing she slept on the covers. She hadn't bothered saying good night. Alice must have fallen asleep before her head even hit the pillow. He listened to her snoring and flipped through his reading material. He made notes here and there, not knowing if he was going to use any of it. These were recruit profiles. Kingsley Shacklebolt, it appeared, was born outside of Kent to wealthy parents. He was the only son. Frank vaguely recognized that this surname was on that original list of pureblood families drafted by Nott.

"Good marks in school, sounds like a prep boy. He sounds like me." Frank talked to himself to help this material stick in his head. He was dead tired, for one thing, although this should had been done days ago. Alice rolled into her left side and muttered some nonsense in her sleep. Frank took off his reading glasses, set them on the bedside table, and rubbed his tired eyes. "Ten minutes."

He punched his pillow, sat up a little straighter, and closed his eyes. There was a knock on the door. Thinking he'd imagined it, Frank snuggled into the bed and covered his head with a pillow. The visitor knocked again. Tossing the pillow into the floor and draping his wife with his covers, Frank took his wand off the bedside table and stumbled out of the bedroom.

"I will kill these people," he said, tightening the strap of his house robe over his pajamas. "Someone better be laying somewhere dead."

Snatching the cat in his arms before he escaped and made a run for it, Frank opened the door. Albus Dumbledore stood there.

Frank did not take this as a good sign. He blamed sleep deprivation for forgetting his security measures and setting them aside. "Oh, God. What happened?"

Professor Dumbledore asked to come inside. Despite the hour, he was smiling.

Frank, obviously ignoring his manners, too, stepped aside and carried the cat into the kitchen. He made coffee and decided to give George, the fat tabby cat, a midnight snack. George always got food when Frank woke up in the middle of the night; he and Alice had actual, full blown fights about this. Frank fumbled around in the kitchen and grabbed a parcel of butter biscuits to go with the coffee. After he poured the brew, he went into the sitting room and sat next to Professor Dumbledore.

Professor Dumbledore said something, although Frank caught none of it. Frank just nodded politely, silently praying it was nothing more than small talk. George jumped onto the couch after walking back and forth on the coffee table and settled himself on the professor's lap.

"No, George, get down." Frank tried to shoo the cat away.

"He's fine," said Professor Dumbledore, scratching George behind his ears and peering at Frank through his half-moon spectacles. Frank switched on one of the floor lamps. "Are you awake, Frank?"

"No, sir, I'm not." Frank went with the truth. He sipped his coffee, hoping Professor Dumbledore took his black. It was a little late to ask. He closed his eyes and leaned back. "You're gonna have to talk about something interesting because I'm dead. I'm sorry we were late for the meeting. We missed the whole thing, and that was my fault."

"Frank, I don't care about that. Alastor told me you have family dinners with your parents on Wednesday evenings." Professor Dumbledore helped himself to the coffee and a biscuit. "I'm not going to tell you not to have a life. It sounds nice."

"Have you met my mother? It's not." Frank stopped, apologizing when Professor Dumbledore chuckled politely. He backtracked. "I'm sorry, sir, I get mean when I'm tired. I'll shut up."

Professor Dumbledore put his long fingertips together and did not say anything for a minute. He seemed to be debating whether or not he wanted to break some news to him. Apparently, he went with yes, for he cleared his throat and gave Frank what he, Frank, thought was a look bordering pity.

The professor finished is coffee and asked for another one. Frank, glad for something to do with his hands, took the request gladly. Professor Dumbledore asked to use the bathroom and asked for Alice. After he set the coffee down, Frank pointed down the corridor and went off to wake his wife. Frank went back into the bedroom, followed by George.

He shook Alice. "Alice, dear, wake up."

"No." Alice glanced at the alarm clock: it was two o'clock. "Are you kidding? Get away from me. I'm tired."

"I know, dear, I am, too." Frank wanted to collapse onto the bed and forget the professor ever showed up. It was rude, yes, and he'd surely pay for it later, yet it was really tempting. Maybe the professor would leave. "Get up, Alice, it's Dumbledore."

"What? Why? Damn it." Alice sat up, throwing the covers off, and stepped into her slippers. She snatched an elastic band off of her wrist and pulled her hair into a sloppy ponytail before scooping up the cat following him downstairs. "Professor."

"Alice, I'm sorry to wake you," said Professor Dumbledore, walking over to her and helping her over to the couch.

"It's fine," said Alice, giving the expected answer and probably not meaning it. She gestured at the coffee mugs. Had this been anyone outside of Albus Dumbledore, or Mad-Eye Moody, or maybe Rufus Scrimgeour (and Alice hated Rufus Scrimgeour), she would have asked him to leave. "Frank, can you get me a coffee, please?"

"You can't," he said automatically.

Given the risk of the pregnancy and the rate of miscarriages, their Healer had given them a long, long list of rules to follow this time around. His father, Dewey, who worked with Spell Damage, even said some of them were plain ridiculous. Dewey didn't know why the list existed, but Frank knew he was smart enough to figure to out. Alice had to drink at least eight glasses of water throughout the day, and she could not participate in any chases or eat sweets. The Healer told her to abstain from intimacy as well, although Frank reflected they'd almost broken that rule yesterday. There were other rules, too, stupid ones, though Frank had painstakingly memorized each and every one of them.

Alice's eyes widened and she spoke to him in a falsely sweet voice. "I can't what?"

"Nothing, dear, I'll be right back." Frank didn't feel starting a row this early in the morning, for he'd lose anyway. He came back with a warm cup of milk blended with some coffee. She took the compromise.

"What news?" Alice turned to Professor Dumbledore.

"I had an interview with a candidate for the Divination post this evening before the meeting," he said conversationally. "I heard something."

Alice snorted, resting her feet on the coffee table and petting George. "Sorry."

"We don't believe in that stuff, Professor. We're not even religious." Frank sat in an armchair and flipped through their new nighttime read. "You're an alchemist. I wouldn't have thought you were, either."

Professor Dumbledore nodded. "Nicholas Flamel is a devout Roman Catholic."  
"Ah, see? There you go." Frank got comfortable with being proved wrong a long time ago. Honestly, he rather enjoyed being knocked down a few pegs, for it kept him humble.

"Frank." Alice got things back on track, growing a little impatient. "What did you hear?"

Professor Dumbledore told them something that could be interpreted a thousand and one different ways. Parts of this so-called "prophecy" didn't even make sense. It was something about a baby born in July. While Professor Dumbledore didn't feed them the prophecy word-by-word, he paraphrased it. Frank thought he followed along. His brain was on his pillow, so he couldn't be too sure. Alice stopped him, laughing madly when Professor Dumbledore got to some part about marking an equal. She buried her face in her hands, which made Frank think she'd succumbed to tears.

"All right, you need to stop. Please.'" Alice dropped her hands and took a deep breath. She reached for her coffee. "This is insane."

"Alice," said Frank, holding his half-empty mug.

"No. No, I'm not doing this. You want to read Tarot cards and tea leaves? You go ahead, Frank. I'm going to bed." Alice tried to get up and failed. She turned down help from Professor Dumbledore and sat there with her arms crossed.

"You can't believe this," said Frank, desperately trying to reason with the professor.

"He does. You do." Alice turned from Frank to Professor Dumbledore.

Frank thought about the Potters. The Potters were half their age, and Frank knew they would actually put weight behind this thing. They were a happy couple. James sometimes acted like a kid himself, which Frank actually liked, for it showed he enjoyed life. They hadn't yet been hardened by real life. Frank didn't know how they made ends meet; it wasn't any of his business. In truth, he sometimes envied Lily and James because they were still in this blissful, newlywed love stage without the problems of family or finances. They too, had a baby due around the same time. Lily, who Frank called "Miss", even had a bet their children would be born on the same day. They didn't need to be bothered with this nonsense. Frank wanted the Potters to stay in their protective, happy bubble.

"Please don't tell Lily and James," said Frank, finishing his cold coffee and placing the mug on the coffee table. He shared a nod with Professor Dumbledore; Frank took it as an agreement, something close to an Unbreakable Vow. He didn't ask favors of just anybody. "This never happened. We are not discussing this with the Order."

"God. Dewey." Alice glanced at the ceiling. Frank's father loved prophecies and conspiracy theories. "He's going to be insufferable."

"We're not telling anyone," said Frank flatly. He got to his feet when Professor Dumbledore stood and Frank led him to the door. Professor Dumbledore said good night to Alice, and she pretended not to hear him. "She's just tired. Thanks for coming."

Professor Dumbledore said goodnight, and they shook hands. Frank closed and locked his door before he headed back into the sitting room. Alice had claimed the couch and laid on it, placing a throw pillow behind her back. She draped two light crocheted blankets over herself and opened her small book. When Frank opened his mouth, even before he got a word out, she picked up her mug and threw it at the wall. She didn't aim at her husband. He ducked anyway, a little surprised. Frank got the hint: he'd be sleeping alone until further notice. The cat freaked out and shot into the kitchen.

"I didn't do anything," he said, waving his wand over the mess. The coffee disappeared and glass shards appeared in his open hand. He went in the kitchen to dump the stuff in the wastebasket. "When do you want me to wake you up?"

"I'm not going in." Alice flipped a page. "I'm taking off till at least Monday.'

"Alice, we're training recruits," he reminded her, looking for the cat. He found George perched on the highest cabinet. Claws out and hissing, George arched his back and wasn't coming down anytime soon. Frank refilled the cat's food bowl as an apology. "You wanted to stay at work. This - this prophecy means nothing."

"Figure it out." She crossed her legs. "Call it a couple mental health days. You're going to kill that cat."

"George is fine." Frank sat down in the armchair. He'd sleep there if he had to. "Alice. It means nothing."

"You want to know the funny thing?" Alice put the book down. She bought a hand to her lips and started crying. "I didn't want to know. It's a boy."

"Alice." Frank got up and lifted her before he sat down and held her.

"I'm already terrified a hundred percent of the time. I mean, we're giving them a target. We're basically asking the Death Eaters to come after us. I can't sleep because I'm trying to prepare for worse case scenarios. What if they snatch him in the park, Frank?"

"Shhhh. Don't say things like that." He thought about the same things.

"Children go for ransom all the time, Frank. Remember Elizabeth? They buried her alive. I barely found her last year." Alice's hands shook. "We're at the top of the list. Someone's coming after us. It won't end."

"I've got this. I'll kill them before they get our boy. I'll kill every single one of them."

"And go to Azkaban? You were a pampered boy. Augusta's angel. You'll never survive in there, you know? They're right there." Alice dismissed his empty threat right away. "Don't say we're leaving or going into hiding."

"Why not?" Frank sounded a little injured. This had indeed been his next point.

"Because we can't. We're us, Frank, come on! People know us, and we have a reputation to uphold. You led a press conference last week saying you'd get this under control. You're backing out now? Frank Longbottom doesn't go back on his word." She squeezed his hand, taking slow calming breaths. "We'll be fine."

"They won't touch him," said Frank again. He fingered the wedding band on her left hand. "I'll tell Mad-Eye."

"No. He's got enough to deal with at the moment. I don't want him arguing with Dumbledore. He won't buy the prophecy, either." Alice nodded, as though trying to convince herself of her own shaky confidence. Frank didn't know whether Mad-Eye would place stock in the prophecy or not. The man did strange things. "You said we weren't telling anyone. Mad-Eye's part of anyone."

"Yeah. Let's sleep. Go to sleep. Sleep sounds good." Frank closed his eyes and put his feet on the coffee table. Frank eventually crashed, and neither of them heard the alarm clock in the bedroom. He didn't show up to work until after lunch that day.

Two and a half months passed. Alice stayed on the couch; she slept there at night. Frank told himself this was because she was more comfortable in the sitting room, although he wasn't stupid enough to honestly believe this. If she hadn't been expecting and neither of them had any interest in being intimate with each other, Frank seriously put money on good odds that she'd be withholding sex. She did that. It worked. He might as well have been the Seer who had recited this stupid prophecy.

Alice went back to work on the following Monday, which he initially took as a good sign, but she chose to sit on the sidelines. She sat behind a desk and performed duties a newly trained Auror could do freshly off three years of training, If Mad-Eye thought this was a strange move, he kept his mouth shut. She filled out reports, and for the first time since he'd known her, dedicated herself to paperwork.

"A turkey sandwich, apple slices, and a salad," he announced, putting a brown paper bag on her desk. They were having a late lunch. He read over her shoulder, mildly interested. He refilled her thermos with ice-cold water and walked back to her space. "Look who finally leaned how to format. Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine. Thanks for lunch." Alice flipped through her folders and handed him a document. Frank pulled up a chair and hid in her cubicle for an hour every day. People did not leave him alone, yet he'd gotten used to a working lunch ages ago. "Tell Mr. Robards that's illegal. That's not interrogation, Frank, that's classified under cruel and unusual punishment. "

"Oh? Yeah, that's bad. It's a good thing they're in mock interrogation." Frank took the paper. An Auror could not restrain a suspect forcibly in a chair during questioning. They couldn't deny anyone, Death Eater or no, water or refreshment, either. Frank reached over her, grabbed a quill, and scribbled a note. Frank reached out and grabbed an interdepartmental memo when it floated into the cubicle. He finished his tuna sandwich and opened his crisps. He kissed her on the cheek and got to his feet. "I gotta go to Manchester. I forgot about Elizabeth. I'll be home late. Mama's making a chicken pot pie."

"Okay." Alice smiled when he tugged her ponytail. "We're letting her cook now? Do you want me to go? They know me."

Frank looked her up and down. She stayed off her feet nowadays, but Alice crashed when she got home. She took a shower. They went for a nighttime stroll when he could get off. Frank suspected she wanted the kid to get here already. He reminded her she still had a month or so left, laughing when she said she was done with this having a baby thing. It was unreasonably hot for the beginning of July.

"Nope. I can handle this." Alice pulled a face, a little disappointed. Frank put the offer on the table simply so she could hear him say it. "You want to cook?"

"No." Alice said nothing until he turned to walk away towards his own cubicle five rows down. It took a minute for his words to sink in "That means Augusta's gonna be there."

"Play nicely," he said, showing her the document as he disappeared.

After changing into a casual Muggle suit, Frank grabbed a few things at his desk and went to go find Kingsley Shacklebolt, He was in training, but he worked through his lunch, too, Frank admired that. He knocked on the cubicle wall and handed over a case file. "Wanna go to Manchester?"

"Seriously?" Kingsley tossed a glass bottle into a wastebasket and flipped through the file as he ate something from a plastic container. "You're letting me shadow you on this, Mr. Longbottom?"

"Mr. Longbottom's my father. I'm Frank." He kept telling him that. Kingsley was very well mannered. "You can take point it you'd like. You have to change. You got any Muggle clothes?"

"Yes, thank you." Kingsley found a scratchpad, some loose leaf of parchment, and started taking notes after changing his clothes. He got to his feet when Frank started towards the heavy doors. "Oh, we're going now. Okay."

Frank, smiling to himself, held the doors open for him. Alice was right. He really, really liked this kid. Kingsley flipped through the pages and accidentally walked into a wizard carrying broomsticks. They stopped. Kingsley helped the man, apologizing profusely. When they approached the fireplace, Frank took Kingsley by the arm. When they appeared outside a shopping centre, Frank let him go.

"What have we got, Kingsley?" Frank knew already, of course, for he'd drafted every detailed report personally.

"This is Mrs. Longbottom's case." Kingsley flipped back to the first page. "We're checking on Elizabeth Finch. She was taken captive and tortured by Death Eaters last year."

"Alice. Don't call her that, please. She'll give you the cold shoulder for days. She's moody enough as it is." Frank grinned at him and pointed towards a Muggle coffee shoppe. "Alice calls you my golden boy, so I suggest you stay on her good side."

"Yes, sir." Kingsley smiled and stood up a little straighter.

Frank stopped when the little girl came running towards him. Elizabeth was a Muggle girl, aged seven, who simply got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. They could have performed a Memory Charm on her. Alice fought against it. Last year, the brave little girl testified in court. When she raised her arms, Frank picked her up, forgetting to lift with his feet, and patted her blonde locks.

"Little Bit. How are you?" Frank walked up to the store front and waved at the girl's mother.

"Good. Where's Miss Alice?" Elizabeth waved at Kingsley. He waved back, smiling at her. They entered the shoppe and waved at Elizabeth's plump mother who worked behind the counter. ""Mummy, look who I found! It's Mr. Frank."

"I see," said the woman, pouring three large iced cappuccinos and placing them on a plastic try with wrapped sandwiches and crisps. She nodded to Kingsley, who took the tray. When Frank offered Muggle money, struggling with the bills, she waved it away. Miss Finch never took his money. "Are you kidding me? This is on the house. Lunch is dying down. Five minutes?"

"Yeah." Frank pretended to check his watch, although he'd wait all afternoon for this woman. He'd done it before. He sat down in a booth next to Elizabeth. Kingsley took the other side, getting up when Miss Finch arrived. "How're things?"

"Good. I got into the nursing program." Miss Finch grinned when he gave her a high five. She dished out the food and set the plastic tray off to the side. "Where's Alice? Do we have a baby yet?"

"Oh, he's taking his time. She's on desk duty. Oh, she sent this." Frank reached into his jacket took out an envelope Alice had sealed three days ago. They had exchanged the money at Grigotts last Tuesday. Miss Finch counted the bills and read the enclosed letter. Frank, surprised to see her eyes swimming with sudden tears, was taken aback. He lowered his voice and sipped his coffee. "It's not much."

"It's everything. That's groceries. You two are amazing." She squeezed his hand.

"Not a problem. Tell me Little Bit." Frank smiled at the little girl.

"She's doing really good. She's getting top marks in school. And we are only sleeping with the night light and the corridor light. Elizabeth sleeps in her own bed now." Miss Finch smiled at her daughter. "If you guys hadn't found her …"

"…but we did." Frank touched the little girl's face. "This is our last visit, Little Bit, okay?"

"No. I wanna see Miss Alice!" Elizabeth looked at her mother.

"She's resting. I'll tell her you said hello. Hey, I've got something for you." Frank nodded at Kingsley, who sat there taking notes. Frank checked to make sure the coast was clear and tapped the table with his wand. A rectangular box in red wrapping paper appeared. He nudged Elizabeth, putting his wand back inside his jacket. "This is from her. Open it."  
Miss Finch took the envelope off the parcel and opened it as her daughter ripped open her gift. Elizabeth squealed when she saw a teddy bear dressed in a pink dress. Miss Finch read the letter aloud with shaking hands.

"'Little Bit and Marianne, thank you for placing your trust in me. Marianne, you told me to never stop looking when your precinct dropped the case. If I can be half the mother you are to Elizabeth, I'll consider myself honored. Thank you for fighting for her. Never stop doing that. Little Bit, I love you. I wish you all the best. If you should ever need anything, you need only ask. Alice.'" Miss Finch got to her feet. " Get up. I'm going to hug you now."

"She gets to call you Marianne? That's messed up." Frank held her close, smiling when she gave a watery chuckle. "That's goes for me, too. If you should ever need anything - anything at all - just ask. It's been a pleasure, ma'am."

Miss Finch smiled when Frank hugged Elizabeth and said goodbye. Kneeling on the floor so they were eye level. Frank gave Elizabeth an ordinary chess piece he'd found in a consignment shop. It was a pawn. He told her ordinary people could do extraordinary things. He wasn't sure the little girl got it because she looked rather disappointed. Kingsley got to his feet after shaking hands with Miss Finch.

Marianne walked them to the door and placed her hands on Elizabeth's shoulders. "You take care of that baby, Frank. And thank you."

"You do the same, Miss Finch. Good afternoon." Frank followed Kingsley out into the street and wiped a tear from his eye. Kingsley didn't crack a smile or dare to laugh. "You wanna have dinner with us tonight?"

Kingsley accepted graciously. They disappeared and appeared again on Newton Street. Frank pointed to the right. They climbed up three flights of stairs, and he rapped on the door. When Alice went through the security measures, he recited the Auror Creed in flawless Latin. It was Frank's favorite document. Everyone else recited the oath in English. Kingsley, impressed, raised his eyebrows.

"Kingsley, hello." Alice opened the door and hugged him. Kingsley stepped inside. She sounded bored when she turned to Frank. "That's too long of an answer. How is anyone going to know if that's correct if they don't know it by heart? Nobody's got time for that, show off."

"It's impressive," said Frank, stepping over the threshold and kissing her. He rested a hand on her stomach. "Who's gonna know that?"  
Alice thought about that for a minute. "You. And only you."

"Exactly." Frank made a face and adopted a proper, pompous tone. "That's brilliant, Frank, thank you. Oh, you actually know what you're talking about?"

"It didn't help if you're the only one. My husband's a strange man." Alice patted his chest and nodded to Kingsley. She walked around barefoot. Augusta called from the back of the flat. Alice sighed, frustrated.

"What's wrong?" Frank took off his suit jacket and draped it over his arm.

He waved at the couch, inviting Kingsley to sit down. The blankets were stacked on the arm of the chair. Frank followed Alice into the second bedroom, the nursery. The walls had been changed from a light green to a blue color. Augusta waved her wand and levitated the white crib in midair. The small white bookshelf had been rearranged. The crib landed by the far wall instead of by the window. Frank's mother, pleased with the move, started to organize the stuff in the crib. She'd thrown an old bassinet in the trash.

Frank stepped back when Alice slammed him into the corridor wall.

"You told me to relax and slow down, right?" Alice spoke with a dead calm, slowly losing control. She pointed her wand at his throat.

"That's right. Relax." Frank, alarmed, raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "This isn't relaxing. This is assault."

"I'm trying. You see this? That bassinet was my grandmother's! What the hell? She's ruining my life, Francis. You want me to be calm and relaxed?" Alice lowered her wand and pulled at his shirt as she took deep breaths. "You want a happy wife?"

Frank nodded, actually afraid of her.

"I want my nursery back. I want Dewey over for dinner if she's here. Why is that, Frank?"

Frank knew the answer to this one. "He's a buffer."

"He's a buffer," she repeated evenly, nodding, going back to her conditions. "You will let me name our son. We will name him together. Not her. You will stop her. You will get that bitch out of my house. Because I am so close to fucking killing her!"

"Got it. Go sit down, dear. Have some tea." He reached out and patted her on the cheek. "The decaffeinated stuff, all right? You're crazy right now. Breathe, Alice."

Alice left him standing there. Frank found himself suddenly thankful that, according to that prophecy, he wasn't destined to have a daughter. Frank nodded, readying himself for his mother. He rested his hands on the doorframe.

"Mama? Mama, what're you doing?" Frank walked into the room and mended the bassinet with a casual flick of his wand. He used a Color Changing Spell to get the warm green shade back.

"She doesn't know what she's doing," said Augusta, taking a stuffed octopus out of the crib. "This thing looks ridiculous."

Frank waved his wand in one fell sweep and returned the nursery back it its original state. He placed Mr. Bear, his old favorite childhood friend, on the bookshelf, next to the stuffed seahorse. Augusta complained when the crib zoomed back underneath the window. The light white curtains closed themselves and the rocking chair landed by the reading lamp. Frank walked over and took the octopus from her.

"Thank you." Frank set the octopus next to his squid buddy. "Alice likes the sea. We've spent a lot of time on this. You don't change it."

"I'm trying to help you." Augusta crossed her arms and stood her ground.

"And I appreciate that. That's an family heirloom." He pointed at the bassinet before he guided his mother out of the nursery. Frank turned off the light. "Mama, if we need your help, and I'm sure we will, we will ask for it. You are suffocating Alice. Wait for me to ask."

"I'm suffocating her? Really, Frank! Alice needs me," she said, holding her ground.

"No, Alice needs you to leave her alone. Tell you what. If we need help, when we need help, you and Daddy will be the first ones we ask, okay? I've got this."

Frank negotiated with Death Eaters. Surely, he thought, he could smooth things over with his mother. Augusta gave him a curt nod and actually bothered with an apology. Augusta excused herself to go to the bathroom halfway through dinner. Frank cleared his throat and offered Alice a sip of wine as a peace offering. Kingsley laughed.

Frank hesitated, thinking of the best way to phrase this while he had the time. "So, apparently, I'm a spoiled little boy."

"You don't say!" Alice placed a hand on her chest, and feigned surprise as she lifted the wine glass.

"All right, all right," he said, laughing with them. Alice took his hand under the table. They discussed Miss Finch and Elizabeth. Alice clapped her hands when he told her, beaming, about the gifts. When his mother returned to the table, Frank passed her a serving dish. "Want some bread, Mama?" 


	3. Illness

She was really short. Or he was tall, and Frank simply couldn't decide. As he approached the podium with his very pregnant wife, Frank organized his thoughts. He shuffled through index cards, a tip he picked up from Lily. She'd bought him a box of those. Public speaking reminded him of the kiss of death. It wasn't a Dementor's Kiss or anything like that; well, he'd imagined it at least started like this. Frank did his job. In fact, he did his job really well. This wasn't simply arrogance talking because he knew his stuff after almost twenty years of civil service with the Ministry. He thought if he'd picked someone out in the crowd, the focal point would do the trick.

Frank leaned into Alice. "I'm going to vomit."

"No, you're not. Seriously?" Alice touched his pale, clammy face. She touched his forehead with the back of her hand. "You're burning up. But you knew that already. Frank?"

Frank left her standing there as the conference room filled with reporters and everyday people. He also left the index cards. He had seven minutes. Dashing to the bathroom, Frank ran right into Kingsley Shacklebolt and felt like he hit a brick wall. He sidestepped him, apologizing as he covered his mouth with his hand. He barely made it to the stall. Minutes later, he lie his head on the cold toilet seat after kneeling onto the floor. There was a knock on the stall door, the rapping of a walking stick.

"Are you dying?" Mad-Eye opened the door magically without fumbling with the inside lock. Frank crawled on the floor. "What the hell happened to you?"

In answer, Frank threw up again before he gave over to a coughing feet. Mad-Eye, without the slightest sympathy, asked him where he'd been throughout the week. Frank thought, not seeing the point. "I toured Azkaban Monday and Tuesday."

"Pneumonia," said Mad-Eye, nodding like some expert.

"No. You can't get pneumonia in the summertime," said Frank, although he did not know whether this was true or not. It was something caught in the colder months, a Muggle disease that ought to have an easy fix. He'd never contracted the disease before and wasn't too familiar with its symptoms.

"It's pneumonia. It's not as bad as the full blown thing, but it spreads easily in closed quarters where stuff isn't caught right away. Homeless shelters or prisons, it thrives in these places. I caught it once." Mad-Eye stopped, perhaps lost in his thoughts. He didn't say anything for a while. Frank, thinking he felt better, got shakily to his feet and walked over to one of the basins to wash up. He splashed water in his face; he looked and felt like hell. Mad-Eye didn't move, which made Frank think he was looking at him out of the back of his head. The elder Auror rubbed his gnarled hands together. "You want the good news or the bad news?"

Frank rolled his eyes. On top of everything else he had going on at the moment, this was just one more thing. According to whatever logic Alice went by, probably going by a calendar set by a Healer, the baby was supposed to arrive two weeks ago. Frank liked staying on schedule. His recruits and his officers learned this during their first days under his service. He was a self-admitted control freak. Alice had initially wanted a home birth, yet given her miscarriage rate and this and that, Dewey talked her into having this kid at a hospital. Frank wasn't completely stupid; he knew his wife better than anyone. Alice could change her mind tomorrow.

"The good news?" Frank had to pick one.

"Well, it doesn't last long," said Mad-Eye, shrugging. Frank did not see this as good news. He washed his hands vigorously and waited for the rest of the story. "Your wife's probably got it because you're contagious."

"Oh, God." Frank caught his meaning. Three of his family members had been taken down by this sudden bout of pneumonia, or the stomach flu, or whatever they called this bug. It was the end of the month, and he was due to attend a conference on August first. That was in three days, so Frank had no time for this illness nonsense. He gripped the basin, feeling faint. Mad-Eye steadied him. Frank decided on denial because it gave him a safer route. "No, it's the press conference. Why do you give me these speaking engagements?"

"People trust you, Frank, because you're a people person. You're a poster boy for this sort of thing. People don't like me." Mad-Eye didn't give any other examples. He planned for worse case scenarios, too, so he probably had a list of potential candidates packed away in his arsenal. "You can't do this. Go home."

"The conference already started," said Frank, checking the time on his wristwatch. It was a gift from his mother on his seventeenth birthday. He could make it through a half hour. He wouldn't offer to take questions afterwards. Someone else, anyone else for all he cared, could handle that responsibility. He followed Mad-Eye back into the conference room. Frank stopped, smiling as his wife took the reins. Alice never dropped a beat. She bit her bottom lip and maybe should've relied less on the cards, yet she was good in a pinch.

"She's stronger than you," grunted Mad-Eye. They stood in the back. Frank nodded. He couldn't argue with that, and he really didn't feel up to the task anyway. Alice finished the brief and raised her voice, asking for questions. They threw her to the wolves. Alice smiled politely, taking a question from the fourth gentleman in the front of the crowd.

" _Daily Prophet_ , Ernie Blanc, ma'am," said a reporter with a deep voice. "You said the capture of Mr. Rowle was a step in the right direction. That's one Death Eater. What's the difference? It's rather like cutting the head off the snake, except you haven't done anything."

Frank hated questions, but he didn't want her to drown in his work. Frank weaved through the crowd to get a better view, ignoring Mad-Eye's grumbling.

"We're taking every precaution necessary. Thank you," she said, taking what Frank guessed was the most updated stats from Kingsley, who stood behind her. Frank stopped jostling the crowd when he made it to the second row. Alice took a deep breath and sipped water before she went on. "Today is the twenty-ninth of July. We're all working at least twenty hours mandatory overtime, and we've all increased our caseloads."

"With all due respect, ma'am, these are excuses," the _Daily Prophet_ reporter cut across her. He got two questions in, which was technically against the rules. "You yourself fight for Muggle cases. You realize they call you the Caregiver?"

"No, these are statistics that will back up my facts. If you'd give me a moment to get a word in edgewise, Mr. Blanc, you'd understand that." Alice paused, wiping her forehead and setting the glass down on the wooden surface. She stopped, pulled a straight face, and checked her watch for a full minute before she continued. "We are working tirelessly to protect the public, and there are steps we urge to take with regards to the surrounding Muggle community. No one life outweighs another. We are all people, folks, let's act like it, shall we? As for the nickname, I've been called worse things during my career, so I'll take it."

Some in the crowd laughed good-naturedly.

"Four minutes," muttered Mad-Eye, knowing she couldn't possibly hear him.

"Last question. The woman in the seventh row in the green shawl. Yes, you. Hello." Alice waved at a nervous reporter who announced herself from some village newspaper. Alice nodded, thinking about the question. She asked the reporter to repeat herself. Alice took her hand off the podium and placed it behind her back. Frank saw she was stumped. As he racked his brains, he found he didn't have a suitable answer either. Alice must have realized she'd eaten up her remaining time because she asked for a rain check. She scribbled on scrap parchment, asking for the reporter's details. "Tell you what. I don't know. Let's table that one for now, and I'll get back to you. Will that do?"

The reporter said yes. Alice closed the conference and thanked from all for coming. Frank joined her when some trainee distracted Mad-Eye.

"Good job. You saved my skin." Frank noticed she shuffled her folders before handing them off to Kingsley. She gave him the secret code to the locked files and her badge number.

"Ma'am," said Kingsley, pausing when he saw her pale face. "Anything else?"

"No. No. Just tell John I'm on leave, will you? Thank you." Alice didn't want for an answer and walked off the platform. Kingsley left with his orders. He was Frank's man, but she had borrowed him today. Frank followed her, curious if the _Daily Prophet_ reporter had angered her. When he started asking her questions and abusing the reporter left, right, and center, she stopped him, speaking slowly. "Frank, I think I'm ready. Take me home, please."

"You won't hear about the promotion till January." Frank froze when she kissed him, cutting his tangent short. Although they were married, they rarely showed public affection because they were work partners. It took a minute for him to get it. Nerves washed over him and he felt like a blundering idiot as he coughed again. "Oh, you mean... are you sure? Are you all right? Since when?"

"I'm fine. It started this morning. I didn't want to worry you because of the conference." She sounded strangely calm. Frank felt like a madman running round in circles. He kicked into overdrive, though he felt like a man without a plan. "Take me home, please. Send an owl to Dewey. It's fine ...we're fine. Are you going to pass out now? You look like hell."

"No. I almost did earlier. I'm dragging. I think I've come down with something. But - that doesn't matter." Frank took her face in his sweaty hands. "We're having a baby."

"We're having a baby," she said, nodding, laughing a little when he forgot his briefcase and raced back to retrieve it from beside the podium. They were in for a long wait.

Frank wondered when his father last had this much fight within himself. It was common knowledge among family friends that Dewey let Augusta walk all over him. Since he could stand up for himself, Dewey took on the role of a leader within the walls of St. Mungo's. He was a completely different person. Dewey was the head Healer-in-Charge on the Spell Damage floor; he ran the family needed him. He acted more like a matron for three or four days. Frank, severely dehydrated, took a hospital beside his wife.

Dewey multi-tasked like an octopus. Frank recovered first because the illness hit him on the first wave. The birth proved difficult for Alice, who had breathing problems and succumbed to coughing fits, waded through the pain for hours. Frank asked the Healers and the matrons to load him with minor potions and whatever they had on hand, yet he wasn't leaving Alice's side. In the end, as Dewey patiently promised Alice over and over again throughout the whole ordeal, they got a baby boy.

"You have to choose a name before you leave this place," said Dewey, flipping through his papers on his clipboard. He smiled at Alice, who rolled her eyes and laid back down on the bed. Dewey got the hint and switched to a more conversational tone. "I'll let you think about that. David's a nice name or there's always Dewey, you know."

"Ha! You're a funny, funny man," said Alice humorlessly. She waved Frank's hand away when he wrung the compress and placed it on her head. She frowned and leaned on whining as a last ditch effort. "Dewey, the baby's better. And you said we can go home today. Come on."

"They can go home," said Dewey, clearing things up when he pointed to Frank and the baby in the bassinet at the foot of the bed. The baby was going home on the condition he got assigned a name, of course, yet they had time. When things went from bad to worse, Dewey opted for a surgical procedure after Frank signed off on it. "You are healing from a major abdominal procedure, so you stay put, Alice ."

"I didn't give you permission," said Alice weakly, closing her eyes. "You want to take this baby away from me? He's a day old!"

"Alice," said Frank, picking up the baby after going into the bathroom to wash his hands. He picked up the syringe, dipped it into a potion vial just like his father had showed him the day before, and fed it to the baby. Dewey watched over his shoulder, nodding. He felt tired, too, but if the Healers were giving him the all clear, he was going to take it. He gathered the diaper bag, the stuff to treat the baby, and his other things. "I've got this."

"You're missing the point." She sighed in frustration. Dewey sat on the bed. "I can't even get through the first day, and I can't even pick him up."

"You want him? Here. Watch the head." Frank placed the baby in his arms and flipped through the old book on the bedside table. "You want me to read you to sleep?"

"Not a child, Frank," she said softly. He'd been reading her the damn book over the last few days to distract her. She held the baby to her chest. He was nothing special, a wrapped bundle. If she wasn't going home, she wanted to know they were coming back every day. He promised her, tapping on the book cover. Alice laid her head back, not saying anything for a while until Dewey started to drift off in a chair. "Neville."

Frank backtracked through their recent disjointed conversations, trying to see if he missed something. "Come again?"

"We're calling him Neville. Neville Christian St. Whatever wrote the book. We like it." Alice offered him the baby again.

"Neville." Frank bounced the baby and nudged his father. "We've got a name."

Frank wanted to sleep in his own bed. He could take his medications without assistance; he could read and swallow. After signing the birth certificate and telling her goodbye, Frank promised to return in the morning, or he'd come back earlier, if that's what she wanted. He placed Neville in a black pram and covered him with some light blankets. He'd be staying with his parents for the time being because he didn't feel comfortable on his own. Frank didn't know what he was doing. He walked away from Alice before she started crying; Dewey warned from of this, saying it was hormones, or emotions, or something. He followed his father out of the hospital.

"She'll be all right, Frank. She's just had a baby," said Dewey, not jumping in to take over.

"She's over emotional? Alice doesn't know what she's doing?" Frank raised an eyebrow, expecting to hear his mother's tried and false answer. He hated it. Frank maneuvered the blanket over Neville again. Neville breathed rapidly. Whenever he got nervous or felt clueless, he let the inner perfectionist take over; this made his control freak tendencies make him appear as a right slob.

"No, Frank. I'd never say that of Alice. She is a good, kind person. Neville looks like her." Dewey returned the Frank's smile, winking at him. "I was right. You're the overprotective father type."

Frank immediately took Neville in his arms when he asked fussing. They hadn't even made it past the derelict Muggle department store. He patted Neville on his back, listening to the baby's uneven breaths. Frank did nothing when the baby spit up on his red sweatshirt. He needed to send an owl and request more time off of work. The Ministry of Magic offered no paternity leave, Frank had checked. If things had gone as planned when they first got married, Neville would have been his sixth child, probably not his first son, and he'd be an old hat at this stuff.

"That's not a bad thing," said Dewey. Before they Apparated, Dewey waved his wand over the pram; it would appear at his parents' house. Frank held the baby and leaned Neville into his chest. When they showed up near his parents, Dewey laughed at the mess on the front of Frank's sweatshirt. "Yeah, get used to that, Mr. Perfect."

"This is disgusting." Frank walked into the house and handed the baby over to his mother. Augusta asked no questions and took care of everything for him, which is why he loved her. Augusta doted over Neville and got him to sleep. Escaping, Frank stripped off his sweatshirt and headed into the downstairs bathroom. Neville wouldn't sleep long with the pneumonia. He turned the faucet to its highest speed and breathed in the steam. After washing up, Frank pulled on a house robe and tossed his clothes into the laundry hamper. When he got back in the kitchen, Frank noticed Mad-Eye's head floating in the fireplace. "Hey."

Dewey dropped the small talk. Augusta handed Frank a cup of tea with lemon and honey and carried the baby in her arms.

"How's the kid?" Mad-Eye couldn't see Augusta.

"Not that great, but Neville was well enough to come home." Frank held up a hand, putting things on pause. He spit into the bin, thankful he wasn't a smoker. Mad-Eye frowned. "What?"

"The whole wide world in front of you, and the best you can from up with is Neville? It sounds boring."

"Alice would probably punch you in the face right now," Frank muttered under his breath. He changed the subject, choosing not to kneel on the ground. A man with pneumonia shouldn't stick his head into a fireplace. He was getting over it, though the dregs remained. He tried to sound cheerful and decided to discuss a recent owl he'd received at the hospital. "How's the Potters' boy? They're calling him Harry, right?"

"Yeah, he seems fine. Sirius says the boy looks like his father. Sirius asked of you wanted visitors." Mad-Eye sighed when Frank changed his disposable face mask with one hand and shook his head vigorously. "What's with your face?"

"Blood and phlegm. It's not a pleasant experience, throwing up in your mouth. I'm tired of it." Frank tossed the dirty mask in the bin. He washed his hands again. Frank called over his shoulder to his father. "Is this normal, Daddy?"

"Patience, Frank. Give your body time to clear it out." Dewey found his stockpile of frozen homemade soups and handed Frank a tall, cylindrical plastic container after warming its contents with a quick spell. "Finish your chat and eat up. That's boy's your responsibility, so don't go passing him off to your mother."

"I need a week off, please," said Frank, sitting at the kitchen table after he found a large spoon in a drawer. Mad-Eye cut the conversation short, granting his time off request with a nod. He tucked into the soup. "We'll sleep in my old bedroom. I'll keep Neville in the pram for a few days. Where's my son?"

Frank knew in the back of his mind that this was nothing. His mother had probably taken the baby into the back of the house. This was Frank's worst fear unfolding on day one. He felt like a worse failure than Alice. Panic arose, and he raised his voice, jumping to his feet and dropping his spoon. Alice was deathly afraid someone would snatch their kid in plain sight. Frank cleared his throat again.

"Mama? Mama!" Frank immediately thought about a missing child report. He turned to his father, furious when he got no answer. "Mama!"

Dewey raised his hand. "Calm down."

"What?" Augusta, haughty, glared at them. She held the baby. "Thanks for waking him, Frank."

"You can't just take the baby. Give him to me, please." Frank took Neville, relaxing a little. Frank added "paranoid, inexperienced father" to his list. Augusta opened her mouth to protest, but Dewey quelled her with a familiar look. Dewey let her wear the pants in the family, although he could easily shift the power. Frank took the spit up towel and tossed it over his shoulder. His father tossed him a bottle underhanded, and Frank somehow caught it before it slipped through his slippery fingers. The soup went cold. After giving Neville another dose of medicine, he started feeding him.

"Not bad," said Dewey, sitting down bedside him and and tapping the soup bowl, reheating it. "Do you want some bread?"

"Please." Frank set the bottle on the table, patted the baby on the back, and kissed his tiny cheek. "I gotta go see Alice, but I don't wanna leave him alone on his first night."

"And you're tired." Dewey got to the point.

"Yeah, I really, really am." Frank hoped he didn't sound too close to tears. He started feeding Neville again. He felt lost because he was caught between a rock and a hard place. Neville passed out after lunch, and Frank ate his soup one-handed. "Who do I choose?"

"Give us the baby," said Augusta.

"No, no, you're doing it again." Dewey stopped Augusta before she hit her stride. He gestured at Frank and poured him some more lemon and honey tea. "He's a thirty-eight year old man. He gets to make this call."

"I'm staying." Frank couldn't take his eyes off of his son. He also couldn't be in two places at once. "Can you go, please? I know this is my family, and they're my responsibility. When Alice gets discharged from the hospital, I will take care of them at home."

"I'm off tonight but I'll go." Dewey checked his watch.

"No, you practically live there as it is, Dewey. I'll go." Augusta gathered her red handbag and her ugly vulture topped conical hat. "I have to go into London anyway and grab a few things in Diagon Alley. Go lie down, Frank."

"Thanks, Mama." Frank got up after finishing his light lunch. There was still quite a bit in the plastic container. He'd save it for later. He kissed her on the cheek, touching his facial mask to her cheek. He shifted his boy in his arms and and headed down the corridor. He laid Neville on one of the pillows in the single bed and climbed into bed at an awkward position. The light rain outside calmed him. "Nap time."

As luck or life would have it, Frank got woken up again in no time. Naps didn't exist for him. There was a knock on his bedroom door. Mad-Eye and Dewey invited themselves inside. Dewey changed the baby, simply to have an excuse to stay in the bedroom. Of course, he stepped out to get rid of the dirty diaper. Neville rolled over and went back to sleep.

"I hate you, Mad-Eye." Frank took his potion bottle off the beside table, thinking his father left it there. He downed it in one. "You realize he was born yesterday? I just asked you for leave."

"Yeah, I know. Nice kid. He looks like his mother." Mad-Eye did not approach the bed, let alone go near Neville. He kept his revolving, magical eye on Neville. He waited, shifting his weight on his mismatched feet. "There's been a kidnapping, Frank. Damocles Belby's niece got snatched. She's five."

Frank knew that name. Belby invented the Wolfbane Potion. He was both brilliant and arrogant. Frank placed the pillow over his face. "Kill me now."

"I can ask ..." Mad-Eye didn't even bother coming up with another candidate. He didn't want anyone else in the case because Frank was his right hand man. "Frank."

"Five minutes. I want to be home in an hour an a half." They stepped out, giving him some privacy, although Mad-Eye gave no promises. Frank activated the security measures around his parents place, muttering spells under his breath. He stripped off the house robe, left it on the bed, and changed into some old robes. He left the sleeping baby. When he stepped outside into the corridor, he addressed his father. "You watch him like a hawk, Daddy. I swear, if he's got one hair out of place, we're gonna have issues. By the way, gentlemen, this never reaches Alice. I never left our son to go chasing after some stupid potioneer. I hate Belby on principle."

Both Mad-Eye and Dewey nodded. Frank rubbed his sweaty hands together, nodded curtly, convincing himself he was taking this assignment, and marched out of the house. He almost forgot his wand.


End file.
